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Description
Ignite.

The fleshfly buzzed around, zooming past Rulandil's face rather in a few drunked loops. The Altmer frowned, shooing it away from his already well-bitten nose, before focusing intently on the damned creature once more.

Ignite, He thought, focusing on the fleshfly, who seemed to pay Rulandil no mind as it zoomed past him again, this time tauntingly close to his face.

Thinking back as he shooed the fleshfly once more, Rulandil realised that he had absolutely no idea what he was doing here, in the middle of some fetid swamp in the farthest, most unfathomable reaches of Nirn, letting fleshflies bite off bits and pieces of him as he waited for nothing.

At least his Bosmer partner was having fun. Athriel was too busy trying to eat the faces of the flies that were eating his face to really care about why they were posted here. Stupid savage. It seemed like his luck that someone of his stature, a son of one of the most important of nobles in the Summerset Isles, had to be paired with a brute and sent to guard only Divines-knew-what in the middle of some far off land. If anything, a person with such profound understanding of magicks and lineage would have at least started as an officer, if not a general! Instead, he was forced to settle for lowly battlemage, her- A jolt of pain brought itself to attention as the fleshfly nipped another piece of his nose off.

Rulandil seethed with rage. IGNITE! he fumed mentally, the fleshfly before him finally bursting into a satisfying amount of flame, seeming to catch the attention of his Bosmer partner.

"Wot the bloody hell is that?" Athriel frowned, squinting.

"That, my dear partner, is destruction magick, pyrokinesis, to be exact. A simple trick of the-"

"Nonono, not your ruddy nonsense," the Bosmer grunted, pushing past Runlandil and shoving him unceremoniously into the mud, "-that." he said, squinting at the treeline as he jabbed a muddy finger at it.

Runlandil scoffed. How dare he! Pushing someone of his stature into the mud- when the captain woke up, he was sure to report this transgression with immediate-

A branch snapped, followed by what seemed like a string of hissing curses. Rulandil snapped his head to the direction his Bosmer partner was staring at, frowning as the treeline seemed to shimmer ever-so slightly. Athriel drew his broadsword as Rulandil reached for his staff, the two quickly retreating behind the rotting log that they'd been seated upon, the Bosmer having enough good sense to snuff the small fire they had going.

The treeline seemed to shimmer again, the two mer tensing as they waited. At the very base of the tallest tree, the undergrowth parted. Rulandil gripped his staff tighter. A small head poked from behind it, before the small pony guar stepped out from the treeline, grazing on some of the swamp plants.

"Feh!" Athriel grunted, raising from behind the tree trunk, "Looks like dinner's arrived."

Rulandil sighed in relief, rising from behind the tree trunk as well, watching as Athriel stepped out into the marsh, net in hand as he strode over to catch the small creature. There was a soft thwish as something came through the treeline, catching Athriel in the throat.

In an instant, Athriel was falling into the muck, gurgling blood as he collapsed. Rulandil ducked behind the tree trunk, staff in hand, using its pointed tip to drag his pack over. A spell of telekinesis would have suited the staff far better, but given the situation, it seemed adequate enough as well to just drag the pack over. Another arrow zoomed over his head, then another, followed by a series of fire bolts, before a bolt of light stuck the tree trunk a hair's breadth from his face, causing him to reel backward from the bright flash. Whoever it was in the treeline, Rulandil concluded, must have had terrible aim.

Still, without time to waste, Rulandil grabbed the warhorn stashed in his pack and pressed the filthy tip to his lips, giving a loud blow as more arrows and an assortment of magicks sailed over his head. In a few seconds, more war horns sounded off in the distance, followed by the sounds of mer shouting and weapons being drawn. The rest of his camp had been alerted. Good, help would arrive soon, though there was probably nothing that could be done for Athriel. The pitiful savage was probably already dead.

"Well, there goes our element of surprise." came a voice from the treeline.

"So, does this mean we get to meet them head-on?"

"Xhu," another voice chuckled, this one an odd, raspy bass, "Let's give our friends a warm welcome to the Marsh."

A series of excited hisses and clicks met the statement as the treeline shimmered again, a loose line of creatures appearing from behind it. Clad in a massed assortment of armours and colours, the lizards drew weapons, advancing slowly upon Rulandil's position.

"Careful," a voice cautioned, "There's still one sentry around here somewhere..."

A sentry? Rulandil would've felt offended at being called a mere sentry and would gladly have corrected them, if it weren't for the fact that he was outnumbered at least a dozen to one.

"Argonians, there!" Came a shout from behind him. Rulandil spun around, to see a glorious line of yellow advancing through the swamp toward him, carrying the banner of the Dominion with it. Rulandil grinned. His reinforcements had arrived.

"Guess you get your wish, Verrikan." came that deep, raspy voice once more, "An-Xileel, CHARGE!"

After half a year of work by the amazing , it's finally done! An 18 man/lizard portrait, of some of the members from my Argonian guild, the An-Xileel, over on the NA ESO servers.

I honestly couldn't be happier to have this finally see light, thank you theme for really taking the time to do this!

Art ©
Characters © Their respective owners
Image is also gifuggingnormous, so please download for a better look.

Description
Ignite.

The fleshfly buzzed around, zooming past Rulandil's face rather in a few drunked loops. The Altmer frowned, shooing it away from his already well-bitten nose, before focusing intently on the damned creature once more.

Ignite, He thought, focusing on the fleshfly, who seemed to pay Rulandil no mind as it zoomed past him again, this time tauntingly close to his face.

Thinking back as he shooed the fleshfly once more, Rulandil realised that he had absolutely no idea what he was doing here, in the middle of some fetid swamp in the farthest, most unfathomable reaches of Nirn, letting fleshflies bite off bits and pieces of him as he waited for nothing.

At least his Bosmer partner was having fun. Athriel was too busy trying to eat the faces of the flies that were eating his face to really care about why they were posted here. Stupid savage. It seemed like his luck that someone of his stature, a son of one of the most important of nobles in the Summerset Isles, had to be paired with a brute and sent to guard only Divines-knew-what in the middle of some far off land. If anything, a person with such profound understanding of magicks and lineage would have at least started as an officer, if not a general! Instead, he was forced to settle for lowly battlemage, her- A jolt of pain brought itself to attention as the fleshfly nipped another piece of his nose off.

Rulandil seethed with rage. IGNITE! he fumed mentally, the fleshfly before him finally bursting into a satisfying amount of flame, seeming to catch the attention of his Bosmer partner.

"Wot the bloody hell is that?" Athriel frowned, squinting.

"That, my dear partner, is destruction magick, pyrokinesis, to be exact. A simple trick of the-"

"Nonono, not your ruddy nonsense," the Bosmer grunted, pushing past Runlandil and shoving him unceremoniously into the mud, "-that." he said, squinting at the treeline as he jabbed a muddy finger at it.

Runlandil scoffed. How dare he! Pushing someone of his stature into the mud- when the captain woke up, he was sure to report this transgression with immediate-

A branch snapped, followed by what seemed like a string of hissing curses. Rulandil snapped his head to the direction his Bosmer partner was staring at, frowning as the treeline seemed to shimmer ever-so slightly. Athriel drew his broadsword as Rulandil reached for his staff, the two quickly retreating behind the rotting log that they'd been seated upon, the Bosmer having enough good sense to snuff the small fire they had going.

The treeline seemed to shimmer again, the two mer tensing as they waited. At the very base of the tallest tree, the undergrowth parted. Rulandil gripped his staff tighter. A small head poked from behind it, before the small pony guar stepped out from the treeline, grazing on some of the swamp plants.

"Feh!" Athriel grunted, raising from behind the tree trunk, "Looks like dinner's arrived."

Rulandil sighed in relief, rising from behind the tree trunk as well, watching as Athriel stepped out into the marsh, net in hand as he strode over to catch the small creature. There was a soft thwish as something came through the treeline, catching Athriel in the throat.

In an instant, Athriel was falling into the muck, gurgling blood as he collapsed. Rulandil ducked behind the tree trunk, staff in hand, using its pointed tip to drag his pack over. A spell of telekinesis would have suited the staff far better, but given the situation, it seemed adequate enough as well to just drag the pack over. Another arrow zoomed over his head, then another, followed by a series of fire bolts, before a bolt of light stuck the tree trunk a hair's breadth from his face, causing him to reel backward from the bright flash. Whoever it was in the treeline, Rulandil concluded, must have had terrible aim.

Still, without time to waste, Rulandil grabbed the warhorn stashed in his pack and pressed the filthy tip to his lips, giving a loud blow as more arrows and an assortment of magicks sailed over his head. In a few seconds, more war horns sounded off in the distance, followed by the sounds of mer shouting and weapons being drawn. The rest of his camp had been alerted. Good, help would arrive soon, though there was probably nothing that could be done for Athriel. The pitiful savage was probably already dead.

"Well, there goes our element of surprise." came a voice from the treeline.

"So, does this mean we get to meet them head-on?"

"Xhu," another voice chuckled, this one an odd, raspy bass, "Let's give our friends a warm welcome to the Marsh."

A series of excited hisses and clicks met the statement as the treeline shimmered again, a loose line of creatures appearing from behind it. Clad in a massed assortment of armours and colours, the lizards drew weapons, advancing slowly upon Rulandil's position.

"Careful," a voice cautioned, "There's still one sentry around here somewhere..."

A sentry? Rulandil would've felt offended at being called a mere sentry and would gladly have corrected them, if it weren't for the fact that he was outnumbered at least a dozen to one.

"Argonians, there!" Came a shout from behind him. Rulandil spun around, to see a glorious line of yellow advancing through the swamp toward him, carrying the banner of the Dominion with it. Rulandil grinned. His reinforcements had arrived.

"Guess you get your wish, Verrikan." came that deep, raspy voice once more, "An-Xileel, CHARGE!"

After half a year of work by the amazing , it's finally done! An 18 man/lizard portrait, of some of the members from my Argonian guild, the An-Xileel, over on the NA ESO servers.

I honestly couldn't be happier to have this finally see light, thank you theme for really taking the time to do this!

Art ©
Characters © Their respective owners
Image is also gifuggingnormous, so please download for a better look.